A Silver Photo Frame on Our Porch Ended My Fifteen Year Blind Spot
Anna was sitting on the sofa, a basket of clean laundry sitting untouched on the floor near her feet.
She looked up as I entered, her eyes cautious and guarded.
“I just spoke with Harold,” I said, sitting in the armchair opposite her.
She did not answer, her hands resting quietly in her lap.
“I turned down the Chicago transfer,” I said.
She blinked once, her shoulders stiffening as she processed the statement.
“You turned it down?” she asked, her voice dropping to a whisper.
“Yes,” I said. “I called him and told him we are staying in Oakridge.”
She looked at me for several seconds, her face remaining completely flat, devoid of the relief I had expected to see.
“Why would you do that?” she asked, her voice tight.
“Because this is where our home is,” I said. “And because there are things here that we need to finish.”
She stood up from the sofa, her movements stiff and defensive.
“Do you want me to thank you, Jordan?” she asked, her voice suddenly sharp.
“No,” I said, taken aback by her tone. “I did not expect a thank you.”
